


the monsters we always were

by KaleidoKai



Series: the prompts that were promised [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angsty Jon, Aunt Dany is here to help, Cousin Incest, F/M, Jon Snow is King in the North, Post-Canon, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 15:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13684140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaleidoKai/pseuds/KaleidoKai
Summary: "Would you bed your sister?" Ygritte had asked him once.Jon isn't so sure of his answer anymore.





	the monsters we always were

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> So I've recently opened my ask box on tumblr to Jonrya prompts, mostly because I want to try my hand at different types of stories. This here is for the darling meseob, whose prompt was the following: 
> 
> Jon remembering Ygritte asking if he would bed his sister and his thoughts on that. 
> 
> I'll admit that I took this opportunity to try writing smut for the first time, so this is my shameless attempt. Hope you enjoy it and happy reading!

Her laughter sang through the air, sweeter than the melody of her steel as it parried blow after blow. Brienne struck once more, and she side-stepped it easily. Twirling on the balls of her feet, Arya swung her sword in a perfect arc, the clash of metal echoing around the training yard. A small bead of sweat trailed down her face, running down her pale neck before disappearing into her tunic. Her eyes sparkled in the winter sunlight, snowflakes trapped in their icy depths. Jon found himself transfixed by the sight. 

And he was not the only one. At the perimeter, idle stableboys and servant girls stared at the pair, and at the dancing she-wolf who commanded the stage. A revolution of movement, there was poetry in every graceful spin, a song in every forceful strike. She was a masterpiece in one, Jon mused absently, an artwork all by herself. The North saw few colours in winter, but in Arya, he saw the spectrum. 

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._

With a sharp inhale, Jon was dragged back to reality. He blinked twice, the rainbow of colours dwindling until all he saw was simply his little sister sparring with Brienne of Tarth. No, not his little sister. His cousin. They did not share the blood of a father, after all. 

It did little to dampen the guilt that swelled in his chest, pressing his heart against his ribcage until it almost shattered. He could not pinpoint the exact moment it had started. The moment when the image of Arya of Before, as he'd come to name her, disappeared into the Arya of Now. He struggled to reconcile the two: the girl with the messy hair and dirty dresses to the woman of secret smiles and guarded eyes. He'd tried to find her ghost in the shadows in the desperate hope of dragging her to the light, of turning her memory into flesh. But lately, Jon found himself less interested in bringing that girl back. He loved that ghost, loved it with every breath of his wretched soul - but he'd come to love this woman of the night so much more. 

More, and yet, so differently. 

Different in the warmth of his cheeks when she stood too close. Different in the clamminess of his palms when she gifted him her rare smiles. Different in the tightness of his breeches when she swung her sword, sweat glistening against the pale expanse of her skin. 

Instead of bringing her to the light, he found himself sinking into her darkness. And oh, how sweet it was. How could something so wrong feel so right? 

He'd wondered the same thing once, a lifetime ago in a cave with a woman kissed by fire. A lump rose in his throat at the memory. Remembering Ygritte had once filled Jon with a dizzying sense of sadness and longing, of what could have been. 

Now, all he could see was her face wrinkled in disgust. 

 _"That's vile. Would you bed your sister?"_ she had asked. 

 _Longspear's not your brother,_ he had said. 

He wasn't sure what he would say now. The thought of Ygritte pained him these day. If she could see him, see his thoughts, she'd cut his cock off and run him through with a sword. The guilt crushed against him once more, swallowing his breaths until he struggled to inhale. The Gods were surely playing a cruel jape. Jon Snow, the King in the North, the White Wolf, the Savior of the Realm: lusting after his sister. Was this how Jaime Lannister had felt? Was he ashamed of the white cloak on his back, of his family name, while he was deep inside his sister? Did he even care? 

Did Jon care? 

"You're brooding. I can tell." 

An amused voice sliced through his thoughts like a spear, and he turned to see Daenerys leaning against the balcony's railings, wrapped in pale white furs. The Targaryen Queen was on her routine visit to Winterfell, though Jon wondered if it was mostly to escape the snake pit of King's Landing now and then. He didn't blame her - his one visit to her coronation was enough for a lifetime. 

"I don't brood," he muttered in response, indignant. "I'm just...overlooking Arya's training." 

Dany chuckled softly, and turned to look down at the pair still sparring below. "I'm not surprised," she said, observing the younger woman with admiration. "Your sister is remarkable with her sword. You must be proud." 

"She's not my sister." 

It came out far more forcefully than he planned, and he winced at his defensive tone. Dany raised her eyebrows, a hint of knowing flickering in the violet gems of her eyes. 

"Of course," she replied lightly, "My apologies for the mistake. It won't happen again." A small smile fluttered on her face as she swung back to Arya once more. 

They stood quietly side-by-side, letting the musicality of the women training wash over them. They were drawing to an end, Jon noticed, judging from Brienne's slower strikes and the furrow of Arya's brow when she grew tired. Her hair had loosened from the braid, the long brown strands dancing in the air. He felt a familiar itch in his fingers, and he clenched his hand tightly. Her hair had been chaos once, long ago. A bird's nest, where now it grew untangled yet no less wild. He used to love to mess it up, but now he had the urge to run his hand through it instead, to see if it really was as soft as it looked. 

_Ygritte must be cursing me from wherever she is._

"She's a lovely thing," Dany mused, her eyes still fixed on Arya. The she-wolf was bowing respectfully to Brienne, before saying something that had the older woman chuckle fondly. "Are there any plans to secure a betrothal?" she asked, turning to Jon. "Tyrion has suggested some lords for consideration. Perhaps you'd wish to discuss them sometime?" 

"I have letters to write," he said suddenly, wrenching himself away from the banister and stalking away. Behind him, Dany watched him with growing suspicion, a smirk spreading on her lips. 

 

oOo

 

The words swam before him, spilling into incoherent puddles. Struggling to focus, Jon released a frustrated groan and ran his hands through his hair. This was absurd! There was so much to do: plans to be drawn for food and storage through the months, discussions to be held with his council and Daenerys, to name a few. He had responsibilities and duties - there was little time for his head to be lost in fantasies and dreams. 

Yet, he found his thoughts soaring higher than dragons all the same. 

She'd looked so pretty at supper tonight. Somewhere amidst the nightmares of the last few years, his Arya had flowered into a breathtaking woman, with winter in her eyes but summer in her smile. He knew the whispers. Lyanna reborn, they said, with the face that had torn the realm apart. Sometimes it was said in awe, as if witnessing a living legend, but mostly it was done in fear - as if history were to repeat itself once more. 

 _It already has,_ Jon mused. Rhaegar Targaryen had shed blood for Lyanna, as he had shed it for Arya. Ramsay Bolton's corpse buried deep beneath the snow was proof of that. Rhaegar Targaryen had died with Lyanna's name on his lips, as he had died with Arya's face on his mind. 

_Perhaps I am more dragon than I imagined._

The Targaryens had loved their sisters. The Targaryens made queens out of their sisters, and the realm bent the knee all the same. This was his history, his blood, his family. Was there any use in fighting it? A wolf does not apologise for the hunger in its belly, no more than a dragon apologises for the fire in its breath. Why should he apologise for loving Arya? 

_Because you are a man and not a beast. Because of Ned Stark. What would he say?_

He clenched his eyes tightly and dropped his head on the desk with a thud. Gods, what  _would_ Lord Stark say? What would he have done, had he witnessed the distinctly impure thoughts Jon harboured for his little girl? 

Jon did not want to imagine it, but his heart shrivelled in shame nevertheless. 

Simmering in self-pity, he almost missed the hard knocking on his solar door. He briefly wondered if he could ignore it, but decided a distraction was exactly what he needed in this moment. 

"Enter!" he called, lifting his head. 

Dany slipped in like silver mist, her ethereal hair shimmering like moonglow in the soft candlelight. Her eyes roved over his dishevelled hair and dark circles critically, her comely face scrunched in annoyance. "Hiding away in the shadows again? This isn't kingly behaviour." 

Jon snorted unkindly. "Am I supposed to care for such things?"

She dropped herself in the chair opposite him, a frown carved in her lips. "You should. Think of what people would say," she said, folding her arms across her chest. 

"If they wish to gossip, let them," her nephew grumbled, with a wave of his hand. "I have far more pressing matters to attend to." 

"Like Arya, for example." 

His eyes snapped up at her delicate tone, narrowing at the false innocence playing on her face. "I don't know what you mean," he managed to say though gritted teeth. 

Dany sighed in exasperation, tapping a finger against her temple. Her hair was no longer tied in the elaborate braids she preferred, falling loosely around her pale face in waves. It made her look far younger than her years. The Dragon Queen who conquered the world was left at the threshold of his solar, and before him simply sat Daenerys Targaryen. Mother, aunt, and a woman glaring at him with irritation. "Cut the horseshit, Jon," she snapped, her violet eyes burning brilliantly through him. "In my last three visits, you've done nothing but mope and brood and pine, and I wonder why I even bother to come and see you. It certainly doesn't lift my spirits." 

Jon bristled at the sting. "I didn't realise I was supposed to entertain you," he retorted drily. "And I am not  _pining_ after Arya. What a ridiculous notion." With a humourless chuckle, he grabbed the water goblet sitting on his desk and drank deeply from it to disguise his discomfort. 

"Good," Dany smirked. "Then you won't mind me informing you that Arya has accepted Edric Dayne's proposal. Isn't it wonder-"

The rest of her sentence was swallowed in a surprised squeal as water suddenly splashed over her. 

Jon frantically wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lurched to his feet. " _What_ did you say?" he asked in horror, pain spreading through his chest like a thousand blades. "No, no no, she can't! She told me she wouldn't! This can't happen. I have to find her." He half-sprinted to the door, almost tripping in the process. 

"Sit back down, you lovesick fool," Dany ordered sharply, wiping her face with her sleeve. 

"No. I have to put a stop to this-" he began, reaching for the knob. 

"There's nothing to put a stop to. I lied," she said casually, wringing her hair out. She grimaced in disgust as the last few droplets fell the ground. "Remind me never to jest with you again." 

Jon froze, whipping around to stare at her suspiciously. "You...lied," he repeated in confusion. "So Arya isn't marrying Lord Dayne?" 

Dany snorted. "Gods, no. She hardly spares the boy a glance." 

"Why would you jest about that? That wasn't funny." He still stood rooted in front of the door, the knives in his heart only beginning to recede until the pain was a dull ache. 

The Targaryen Queen, now appropriately dry, sat back in her chair to survey the King in the North carefully. "Love is amusing, dear nephew, and it is the cruellest jape of all. Look at yourself," she said, earnestly, waving a hand towards him. "Tell me again that you do not pine for her." 

Jon wavered, leaning against the door for support. He buried his face in his hands and drew out a deep, bone-weary sigh. "I can't do this anymore," his muffled groans escaped through his fingers, "I can't stop thinking about her, Gods help me." 

He heard Dany rise slowly from her chair and walk towards him, placing a small hand on his shoulder in comfort. "Stop fighting it," she chastised gently. "We don't choose who we love. The wars have been fought, Jon. Winter is almost over, and you can let yourself live." 

His heart leapt at the thought. He wanted desperately to believe her, to let her words wash over him and sink into his skin like soft summer rain. He wanted to wrap himself in the idea that anything was possible, that his most desperate desire could somehow be fulfilled. 

But he couldn't. Her words were pretty but rang false like an illusion of spring. 

He dropped his hands and pulled away from her, shaking his head sadly. "Not this. I can't have this. It's  _wrong,_ Dany, don't you understand? The North is not like the South. It will not stand for it. We'll be called Lannisters or worse, and I will not bring her shame," he said fiercely. 

Daenerys quirked an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. "Targaryens wed brother to sister for centuries, and the North remained loyal," she remarked. "Arya is not your sister. I don't see what the problem is." 

"We were raised as siblings all the same," he muttered stubbornly, moving towards his desk. "It's an offence against the Gods." 

_Women who bed brothers or fathers or clan kin offend the gods, and are cursed with weak and sickly children. Even monsters._

Ygritte's words slammed into him with such force, it snatched his breath away. She hadn't been wrong. How many mad Targaryen kings did the world have to endure? How much did it suffer under Joffrey? If he bedded his own blood, what sort of nightmare would he unleash next? 

"Our children could be monsters," Jon muttered darkly. "I won't let that happen." 

His musings were interrupted by the scornful laughter of his aunt, and he turned to her in bemusement. 

"The Gods don't care," Dany scoffed. "If they did, where was their fury when I was a child, running for my life? Where was their fury when my brother sold me for an army? I did nothing wrong, yet I was punished all the same." Her voice was strangely calm, as if she were speaking of another's life, another's tragedy. Perhaps she was, in a way. "I made my own fortune in this world and so did you. There's little use in trying to please a world that can never pleased." She raised her head in pride, and looked him directly in the eye, the Conqueror once more. "And yes, your children will be monsters." 

Jon flinched at that, squeezing his eyes shut. Ygritte was right. She had always been right. 

"But so are you and I," Dany continued, softer. "And so is Arya. We are already monsters, Jon. We are dragons and wolves, and no one but us can possibly understand what that means. It is not wrong or sick, but who we are. I will not apologise for my beast. Will you?" 

He was standing behind his chair, gripping it tightly, his eyes widening at his aunt. A glimmer of hope sparked in his chest, and he hardly dare let it flourish into flames. Could she be right? Gods know there had been little happiness in his life until Arya had showed up shivering at Winterfell's door. His world had been immersed in darkness, a cold and pristine world encased in glass, and her blazing presence had shattered through it and set everything on fire. It was a pleasure to burn beside her. It felt like home, at last. 

Had he not suffered enough? Had he not risked his life - everything! - for the realm? Was he not allowed to be selfish, just this once? 

 _Would you bed your sister?_ Ygritte had asked.

He'd have his answer soon enough. 

 

oOo

 

When Arya slipped back into her room later that night, she was startled to find Jon perched at the edge of her bed, expectantly. 

"Were you waiting long?" she asked curiously, removing the cloak around her shoulders to throw it over a nearby chair. 

Jon did not reply, his eyes fixed on a small stain on her wooden floors. He wasn't sure if he trusted himself to speak just yet. 

"Hello?" Arya said a little louder, waving her hand across his face. "Is there something the matter? What's wrong, brother?"

"Don't call me that." 

Arya recoiled immediately, snatching her hand back as if he'd tried to bite her. He lifted his gaze to see her frowning deeply at him, hurt swimming in her icy eyes. "Fine," she said bluntly, her expression hardening. "What do you want,  _Your Grace?"_  

He blinked and stood up, looking down at her small frame. "Don't call me that, either," he muttered quietly, taking a step forward. 

She stared up at him in bemusement, not the least intimidated by his towering presence. Folding her arms across her chest, a derisive snort escaped her lips. "Does 'stupid' sound better? I think it's far more fitting, if you ask me." 

Her eyes were boring into his, and he marvelled at their elegance. It was eternal beauty trapped in her depths, like diamonds carved from moonlight. And they were looking at him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, and she had never looked so beautiful. It was this thought that inspired enough courage to utter the words he only allowed himself to whisper in the darkest of nights, alone in his bed. "I don't want to just be your brother anymore, Arya, and neither do I just want to be your king." His heart thudded wildly in his chest like a frantic hummingbird, and he wondered if she could hear it, too. 

She bit her lip, perplexed, and that small innocuous action rushed his blood down south. "Then what do you want?" 

Swallowing deeply and subtly wiping his sweaty hands on his breeches, Jon took a shuddering breath. He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she did not move, he inched closer, until his dry lips pressed against hers, as light as a butterfly's kiss. She barely responded, standing frozen, whether in shock or disgust, he was unsure. Pulling away immediately, his eyes raked over her face, his stomach clenching at the neutral expression and blank stare.

Oh Gods, she had hated it. Stifling the shot of pain and the sudden urge to lock himself away somewhere, Jon cleared his throat awkwardly. "I...I'm sorry," he started, flustered. "I shouldn't have...I'll just go." Warmth flooded his cheeks like wildfire, and he started making his way towards the door, his heart still rooted to the spot. 

"Wait." 

A single world, yet it struck him as hard as the mightiest hammer. 

Arya was facing him, looking at him in such a way that it snatched his breath away. Perhaps it was one minute or a hundred, but she was suddenly  _right there_ , her hands framing his face delicately. "I don't want to just be your sister anymore, either," she whispered, but to Jon sounded like the entire universe chanting in unison. 

"That's the best news I've heard," he chuckled, leaning in once more. This time, she cocked her head to the side and met him halfway. Their lips collided in a symphony of tongues and desperate touches, with the force of two galaxies colliding into one. His hands roved through her hair, and it slipped through his fingers like silk, as soft as he had imagined. Arya laughed breathlessly against his mouth, her hands fluttering over his tunic, unbuttoning them with surprising speed. He moaned unabashedly into her mouth when he felt her hands spread against his chest, impossibly warm and searing him to his bone. His fingers found the edge of her own shirt, and he broke away briefly to tear it away from her. 

He inhaled sharply when he saw the slip of her underclothes, her breasts hardly concealed through the thin material. The small buds of her nipples started hardening in the cool air, and his mouth ran dry at the sight. 

Crimson crept up her cheeks the longer he stared, and she raised her arms to cover herself. 

"No, don't," he breathed, reaching over to pull her hands away. "Gods, you're so beautiful." His voice was steeped in wonder. 

A bright smile found its way onto her face, and she moved forward to catch his lips with more ferocity than before. His hands kneaded her breasts, rubbing her nipples between his fingers gently. She responded by pushing herself harder into him, until he could feel every curve of her body along his. He hissed softly when his cock was trapped against her heat, and she started rolling her hips experimentally. If she wasn't careful, he'd undo himself in his breeches, and there was far too much Jon wanted to do before that happened. 

Just as he was about to suggest they move towards the bed, she suddenly dropped to her knees, her fingers frantically digging through the buckles of his breeches. 

"Arya," he warned, his voice wrangled. "You don't have to-"

"I know," she said nonchalantly. Her eyes flickered upwards, a coy smile playing on her face. "I want to." With that, she wrenched his breeches down, and wrapped one hand around the bottom of his shaft. Jon swallowed in a gasp at the contact, and focused on controlling his breathing, entwining his fingers in her hair. She made it immensely more difficult when she placed the tip of her tongue against his head, the fingers of her other hand lightly tickling and tugging at his balls. Jon's eyes rolled to the back of his head as she gave a long, languid stroke, both with her mouth and her hand, her small persistent ministrations on his testicles driving him mad. With a small prayer that he'd be able to handle it, he glanced down, and almost came undone there and then. 

It was intoxicating, seeing her breathless on her knees in front him. Her eyes were closed as she licked him from shaft to base, as if he were a delicacy at dinner and she were savouring his taste. Her breasts were moving gently in the air under her smallclothes, swinging with every bob of her head. It was crude and vulgar, and it lit a hunger in the pit of his stomach, unrelenting and consuming. 

_I will not apologise for my beast. Will you?_

No. Never. 

"Arya, I need you on the bed. Now." He ordered in a husky voice, hard as steel. 

She stopped immediately, and peeked upwards at him. With a fluttering grin, she rose slowly and sauntered towards the bed, removing her breeches and smallclothes in the process. Like a madman chasing a dream, he followed her, drawn by her magnetism. He stripped himself of his remaining clothes, standing stark naked before her as she clambered to the centre. Hints of pride swelled in his chest when he saw appreciation in her grey orbs as she observed him. 

"On your back," he commanded, "and spread your legs." 

He didn't think he'd ever seen Arya respond to orders so eagerly. She pushed herself down on the bed until she lay flat on it, watching him through heavy eyes. He crawled up her body, laying kisses wherever he could, before latching onto one of her nipples. With a sigh, she grasped tightly at his hair, tugging it every time his tongue ran over the small pebble. When one breast was drenched in wetness, he moved to the next, sometimes biting down gently. Her hands roved over his curls and his back, and he relished the soft kisses of her fingertips running over his spine. With a pop, he released her nipple and reached up to plant a hard kiss square on her mouth. She moaned and grabbed his head fiercely, her tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip before snatching it in her teeth. His cock jumped at that, desperate to find her warmth, but he stifled it again. He wasn't finished with her, just yet. 

He moved away from her lips, chuckling softly at her disappointed sigh. Splattering her with small kisses from her jaw to her neck to the small curves of her breasts, he pushed himself lower down the bed until he was hovering over a mound of dark curls. Leaning in, he inhaled deeply, groaning as the smell of Arya filled his senses, sweet like honey. She was undeniably soaked, wetness pooling at her core. Arya's body seem to quiver in anticipation, and he shot her a wicked smile before planting slow, languid kisses up and down her inner thighs, sometimes inching close to where she wanted him most, before pulling away again. 

"Oh come on," she moaned at him, sweat beading her forehead. "Stop teasing me, stupid." 

The familiar insult was so at odds with the moment, Jon chuckled against her skin. "Since you asked so nicely," he said with a grin. Reaching up, he ran his fingers around her clitoris, wrapping her wetness around his tips before pushing them in deeply. 

The reaction was instantaneous. She bucked against his hand with a loud gasp, her head snapping up and falling against her pillow. He repeated his movements, leaning in to add his tongue to the mixture. Arya jerked up so violently, she narrowly missed smashing into his nose. He moved his hand out of her to hold her hips against the bed, interchanging his tongue with peppered kisses on the small bundle of nerves. He reached his hands up to massage her breasts as he pushed his face deeper into her clit, overwhelmed by her _._

"Gods, Jon, I...I think I'm-" Arya whimpered, rolling her hips against his mouth. At her words, he increased his speed, lavishing her with his mouth in every way he knew how. 

He tasted before he heard her release, a pool of warmth spilling onto his tongue like Dornish wine. He lapped it up keenly, before lifting his head to smirk at her. 

She was a vision to behold, her wild hair fanned around her in a dark halo, her eyes shining brighter than a full moon. He felt as if he was falling, lost amidst time and space and stars, suspended in a universe crafted by her. In her presence, he was infinite. 

"Come," she was saying, holding a hand out towards him. He rested his cheek against her palm, and ran his nose against the pale skin of her inner arm. They said Starks were carved from ice and moulded by winter, but Jon thought it to be the worst of lies. His Stark was soft and warm, spun together with threads of wildfire and silk. He covered her body with his own, and leaned in to capture her mouth again, simmering in the tastes of her. She pushed against him eagerly, the residues of her release on his tongue encouraging her boldness. His cock was rock hard against her legs, and she reached between them to grasp it and guide it towards her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping him in her heat as he sat on his knees and positioned himself at her entrance, the leakage from his tip mixing in with his saliva and her wetness. He paused hesitantly, and glanced at her. 

"What are you waiting for now?" Arya huffed, impatiently, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. 

"I love you," he said thickly, his heart stuck in his throat. "Gods, Arya, I love you so much."

She framed his face with her hands, and stroked his cheeks with her thumb. "I love you too. Now can you _please_ get on with it." She threw herself back on the bed, and looked at him with excited anticipation. 

"No, you don't understand," Jon muttered with a frown. "I  _love_ you. There's no one else. You have to know that. I don't want anyone else to be my queen, but you. I don't care if they'll call us Lannisters. I'm yours and you're mine," he finished with a passionate whisper. 

Arya sighed softly, and pushed herself up on her elbows to observe him closely. "Jon, you are my heart and I love you fiercely. But can we continue this conversation later?" She pointedly tightened her legs around him, drawing him closer to her heat. "We can talk all night about-" 

About what, Jon would never know since he took that moment to push himself inside her. Her mouth dropped as she collapsed against the pillows, a grin spreading on her face as he started thrusting. He tried keeping it slow, to prolong the moment, but the instant he was sheathed within her, his control broke loose. Hitching her legs over his shoulder, he pounded into her, his hands intertwining with hers above her head. With every thrust, her cries grew louder, until he was sure the entire castle was listening to them fuck. 

 _Would you bed your sister?_ Ygritte had asked him once. 

 _In a heartbeat,_ he would say now. 

Letting go of one of her hands, he reached down between them to insert a finger in another of her holes, shoving it back and forth in time with his cock. The sound of his balls slapping wetly against her pervaded the air, and the primal part of him enjoyed how it rang through the chamber, the unapologetic music of their coupling. 

He felt her walls tighten against him as Arya gripped his hand harder, her fingernails digging deep into his skin. At her climax, the volume of her moans escalated until it was all he could hear, wrapping him in a cocoon of her pleasure as she released around his cock. With a groan, he draped himself over her, desperately moulding his lips and tongue against hers as he felt the tension down south rise quickly. He thrusted three more times until he was spilling deep inside her with a shout, shuddering as every last drop sank into her. 

Slumped against her, Arya reached up to stroke his hair gently, his face resting against the crook of her neck. She smelt sweet and sweaty, and he couldn't resist darting out a tongue to taste her once more. 

She giggled at his touch, and he rolled over to stop his weight from crushing her. She snuggled under his arm and against his side, placing her head over his beating heart. 

"So you don't care if they call us Lannisters, then?" Arya asked quietly against his skin. 

Nuzzling her softly, Jon played with the ends of her hair, sighing in satisfaction as she curled closer. "I've been called worse," he replied simply. "They'll just have to get used to it."

"And if they don't? If they tell us we would feel the wrath of the Gods if we persist?" her voice was soft, and Jon hated hearing her sound so hesitant. 

He turned and wrapped her fiercely in his arms, pressing her against him until he could no longer tell where he ended and she began. "Then I'll show them my wrath and ask which they fear more," he muttered darkly. "I'm not letting you go anytime soon, Arya. I promise you that." 

Her hands trailed down his chest and she lifted her head to glance at him mischievously. Under the sheets, he felt her other hand run along the inside of his thigh and circle his balls delicately. 

"Oh?" she said with false surprise. "Care to convince me a little more?" 

He grinned wickedly at her.

 

oOo

 

When he strolled into breakfast the next morning, Jon found Dany sitting alone at the table. 

"Where is everyone?" he asked as he dropped into his seat and reached for the bread. 

His aunt quirked an eyebrow at him. "Avoiding you. After the show you and Arya put on for us last night, I strongly suspect Lady Sansa is praying for your souls in the godswood, and the rest are hiding away in shame." She glanced around curiously. "Where is she anyway?" 

Jon paused in the midst of shoving a piece of bread in his mouth, a blush spreading on his cheeks. "She was exhausted, so I let her sleep. We didn't get much rest last night."

Dany snorted in good humour. "Gods, Jon, when I told you not to apologise for your beast, I didn't think you'd be rutting like a wolf so quickly," she chuckled. 

"I did not rut like a wolf," he retorted, indignant. "And this is hardly an appropriate conversation for the morning, Your Grace. Can we change the subject, please?" 

"Of course," she responded, with a wink. They returned to their meals quietly, Dany picking at her plate idly while Jon grabbed his water goblet. 

A heartbeat passed, until Dany casually asked, "Would you prefer if I said you were sheathing your sword instead?" 

Leaning sideways, she narrowly avoided the jet of water spat from Jon's mouth. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> UPDATE (11/03): After receiving anon threats on this fic, I’ve been forced to disable anonymous commenting so I don’t have to deal with that anymore. I’m super sorry to anyone that’s inconvenienced by this, but I hope you understand! ❤️


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